Hetalia OneShots
by SnowFallsSilverOnRoute37
Summary: Just a bunch of oneshots to give me experience writing Hetalia characters... feel free to review. Criticise me, judge me! I hunger for it. Hehehe... Okay, uh, T rating just in case, though I plan to keep this very mild by my standards. -R.37
1. A Thousand and One Times

**A/N This is my first Hetalia... bit of writing, I suppose. Well, there was that ONE other one, but we don't talk about that one. In a few words; OC= Mary Sue, plotline= crap. So I've erased it from existence. Just goes to show y'all that even goddesses of the keyboard like myself have slip-ups every now and then (just kidding, I know I suck).**

**Uhm, I don't really have any warnings for this one, considering the language use is VERY mild by my standards (go have a glance at some other fic of mine, I assure you you'll find at least three swears in the first paragraph). Mmm... you could see it as GerxIta, if you like that sort of thing, but that wasn't my original intention and I don't think it goes much further than what's already canon. **

**Finally, if you take the time to review my shit, by all means submit whatever ideas you have for the next oneshot because I'm all out!**

**-R.37**

**PS (ANs aren't supposed to have PSes but fuck the world) I would like to take this opportunity to thank BrandyDawn98D for helping me smooth this out from the piece of shit of a first draft I had to this. Thanks, Des. ^^**

* * *

On a sun-scorched grassy field, on the slight slope of a green knoll, a certain scene was unfolding- one that had played itself out a thousand times before.

_A tall, burly man in a dark green military uniform chased his companion, who wore a similar outfit in a sky-blue shade, around the elliptical field- marked for training with a white fence- bellowing threats and expletives while a third man sat cross-legged and serene under the shade of a tree just outside the boundaries of the fence, occasionally looking up from his drawing to marvel at the 'fierce temper of those Westerners'. _

_ No matter how long it took, whatever advantage the blue-clad runner had over his assailant, he was always caught- sometimes tackled- otherwise grabbed roughly by the arm- and he would quail under the irritated glare of the taller man. The victorious of the two would then sigh in exasperation, smooth back his blonde hair, and spend several minutes yelling things like; "Italy, you imbecile! How the hell are you going to fight a war when all you ever do is run away and wave that damned flag?!"_

_The shorter- Italy- would screw up his face, his shoulders slumping forward, and keep his gaze on the grass under his feet, muttering "yes", "no", and "never again, Germany." until the man who sat under the tree took pity on Italy and quietly bit firmly assured Germany that 'Italy wouldn't dream of doing such a thing again', and when Italy gave a small nod and a watery smile of consent, blowing a burgundy curl out of his face, Germany would relax his grip on Italy's shoulders and lead him silently back to the middle of the field to continue the session, a look of clouded frustration and embarrassment on his face. Italy would mouth a silent "Grazie" to Japan, who'd give a curt nod and return to the sketchbook lying under the tree, a few pencils scattered around it. The session would go on for another half-hour or so, one of the two silent and on the verge of tears, the other easily angered and constantly barking his own manner of pseudo-encouragement; "Step up your pace! Power walking will win us no wars!" while Italy bit back any whining or a complaint he would have otherwise blurted out, increased his own speed and didn't remark on the stitch that tore up his side. _

_An hour or two later Italy would be back to his regular cheerful self, talking almost constantly and wanting to play games and enthusing over tiny things, while Germany still dwelled on the saddened look on his friend's face, the way he had ran hunched over to one side but remained stony-faced and silent, wondering how it was possible for somebody to forget anything so quickly._

"Forget..." Italy whispered to himself as he dragged his feet in a tired amble to the training field. "I don't, I didn't and I never will." For the thousand and first time, he whined and complained as Germany's loud voice spurred on his leaden legs. For the thousand and first time he left the field under the pretext of needing a bathroom break. For the thousand and first time he was dragged away from whatever village, lone structure, or forgotten shed he had fled to, and taken back. For the thousand and first time he ran around the field in repeated, pointless circles, trying desperately to escape not the cramps in his thighs or the sweaty clothes- because he was getting those no matter what- but Germany's awful yelling.

Today something was significantly different, though. When the taller man clapped a gloved hand on Italy's shoulder, ready to deliver another lecture, the shorter's knees gave way and he fell back onto the hot grass, sobbing.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Italy?! Pick yourself up, man!" Germany's harsh words didn't conceal the worried look on his face very well.

Japan, who sat under his tree as always, looked up, for the umpteenth time, to see the blue-clad man half-sitting, half-lying on the grass, and he made to stand up, but Italy's next words stopped him cold.

"What's wrong with me? You should know!" Italy was shouting, and his tone was that of a hysterical child. "Every time-we come here and you yell and I run away and you take me back and you yell some more but it's okay with me because you look sorry afterwards and I hope you'll be nicer next time but you never are and when you yell again I run away because I really hate when you yell and I know it's dumb because I make it so you only end up yelling again but I can't help it, it's just so horrible when you yell!"

He took a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, wiped the tears from his eyes with a blue sleeve and continued in a much softer, shaking manner; "It's not that you're yelling because I ran away, is it? You yell before I even do anything bad that I'm not fast enough, not strong enough, just not good enough because you hold me to your standards and not mine."

Italy looked up to see a very shocked Germany, mouth half-open, and gave a weak smile as he finished; "I know you apologize sometimes but that's no good because you always end up yelling again. So there's something I want to know... but since you can't seem to decide when I ask you normally, I'll try to make things clearer."

He spoke his next words slowly and very deliberately, if with a bad accent in a language foreign to him. "Liebst du mich? Hasst du mich?" Italy's shoulders shook slightly and brown eyes met piercing blue. "Can you tell me once and for all?"

It was a very rare thing to catch the usually stern, disciplined and _loud_ German off-guard to such an extent that he didn't shout or even talk normally- he was dumbstruck. Yet this was one of those occasions. He looked down at Italy, whose very fake smile screamed confusion and misery, and he couldn't bring himself to do the tough-guy routine groan and a quiet; "You know what I think", but he had no other words.

Germany dropped his gaze and rummaged around in a pocket on his belt, finally pulling out a blank piece of lined paper and a charcoal pencil. He spent several minutes clumsily scrawling something on the note, carefully folded it and placed it in Italy's outstretched hand, turned and simply left the field, presumably to return home.

The other was left sitting in the grass with his smile still plastered onto his face, and still looking very unconvincing. "This had better not be in German", he said jovially to nobody in particular. "I only know six words."

Japan, who had been attempting to follow the conversation from his spot under the tree- he had no trouble hearing Italy's shouts, but he hadn't been able to make out what it was he whispered that left Germany speechless- walked over to the blue figure on the grass and stopped Italy from unfolding the note.

"Ah- pardon me, but I have the feeling that was very difficult for Germany." He gave a small smile, the reassuring and genuine opposite of Italy's. "It might be better to save it for... next time." Japan then nodded as a means of goodbye, and began to walk towards his own home.

Italy sat for a good ten more minutes, contemplating Japan's words, his own words, and Germany's words, enclosed in the folds of the crinkled paper in his hand.

He tucked it into his shirt pocket and, where he would otherwise have trailed Germany home, he decided to visit a small bistro he'd discovered in a neighboring village he skipped out on training. He would see what he did afterward.

* * *

_**A week or so later**_

* * *

"Next time" Japan had said, and Italy'd known exactly what he meant. Next time Germany yelled...

He yawned as he fiddled with his light blue tie- Germany had always insisted the training sessions be at dawn, 'to get us alert and focused for the day'.

And although Italy had stayed in a friendly little motel for the past six-and-a-half days, alone, he'd decided it was time to make up, because losing a friend- especially one like Germany- was the worst thing he could imagine.

"Next time"... He might get a scolding for being away a whole week. Maybe he had better not go...

And then he remembered the note in his shirt pocket.

Italy slowly unfolded it, both excited for the prospect of good news and terrified for the one phrase he didn't want to hear. "Ich hasst dich."

He took a deep breath and laid eyes on the paper.

_Italy Veneziano, you are the single most irritating, senseless person I know. That being said, I do love you and you're the best friend I've ever had, even if I don't know how to deal with you at times. I would not mind saying I won't shout any longer, I won't be so impatient, or so rough with you. But you know as well as I do that is a promise I cannot keep. I was made for the battlefield, not to be a socialite- but I will tell you this. Not an inch of me hates you. Why would I? Because you're too upbeat all the time? Too focused on food? It's illogical to hate someone for what they cannot help. I have long since decided to love instead._

_-L. Beilschmidt_

Italy grinned. He was loved. Even though Germany thought him senseless and annoying. Even though he yelled.

Keeping the note safe in his pocket, he walked the half-mile or so to the field, but began to run upon seeing Germany's tall figure, greeting him cheerily as ever.

"Sorry I'm late!" He smiled.

"The other grunted and muttered; "That's all right- ehm, I'll let it go, just this once. -Let's get started then."

Italy ran every one of his laps without any complaints- biting his lip to keep from laughing in happiness- and the routine stitch in his side didn't hurt half as badly.

As for Germany, he only yelled once; "You're- ahh- doing well, Italy!"


	2. An Ungratifying Ending

**HetaOni 'shot. I don't know either, I've just been really fucked up ever since I watched HetaOni, I really hope this will help me stay out of my own head for a bit, at least concerning... No. Nooooooo. Nononono. Happy thoughts. Pink fluffy unicorn on a pickle with smurfberry jam... Fuck. D: *cries* IT'S NOT WORKING. Sigh. **

**-The setting here is from one of the various time-loops Italy was caught in... before... 17 1/2. *cries again* I'm not sure which one exactly, but I hope it'll work. It's been a little while since I've watched HetaOni, so some of the details might be off... I'm doing the best I can.**

**-This isn't how HetaOni really ends, for those of you who haven't watched it... I made an alternate ending for the sake of the plotline, and to avoid spoiling it for people. **

**~R.37**

* * *

It had been a day or so since Germany showed the others the most impressive safe room he'd built, and everyone was just beginning to settle down and relax a little bit, leaving every now and then to investigate a different room, but always prepared and always in well-organized groups. Everyone knew their place; most of the Allies (with the exception of England, who sometimes stayed back to figure out just how much magic he still had at his dispense, and France, who often cooked for the others along with two-thirds of the Axis) were always going out to the rocky basement, which they had recently discovered, or to the third floor- namely the strange concrete room with the pure white piano.

Germany and Japan tried their best to make the room more inhabitable- by purchasing battle supplies for the others, or cleaning up, or cooking, and trying their hardest to keep England out of the kitchen on the occasions he stayed behind in the safe room.

Spain, Romano and Prussia often waited by the entrance, or stood just outside, to fend off the monster, should it find them. It never really did, so at some point they decided to take turns joining the Allies on their tours of the mansion.

Canada was alone for the most part, in some faraway corner, always appearing deep in thought, or depressed about something. Always very focused. But he was invaluable when it came to solving the many mysteries their prison of a house had to offer, so the others left him be.

Italy, on the other hand... he might as well have been on the Moon, for all he did, or was able to. He always seemed lost in his own thoughts, much like Canada, with the main difference being that his gaze was unfocused and he never really spoke when somebody addressed him. He would often take out a book bound in red leather, sometimes writing a little bit, but most of the time mouthing silently to himself and looking at the blank pages of the book, without really seeing them at all, what little there may have been to see.

Another notable anomaly about Italy was that, compared to everyone else- even those who would throw themselves into a fight at a whim- his clothes were a lot bloodier. His previously light-blue uniform was almost totally discolored to an iridescent maroon. He wasn't bothered by it, but although he seemed confused and lost in his own mind, he didn't miss the worried glances often thrown his way, usually by Japan, but he glimpsed Germany looking at him with an expression in-between frustration and sadness a few times as well.

At some point, Japan decided to try his luck and attempt to talk with Italy, cautiously walking over to the left side of the room and making to place his hand on Italy's shoulder, but pulling back on feeling it, strangely, still damp with what was presumably blood.

"Ahh- Italy?"

His friend jumped a little, a soft "Ve!" of surprise escaping his lips as he quickly pocketed the red book. Italy then raised his head, and his gaze to meet Japan's. His voice was weak, and it shook, but he was speaking.

-"Si?"

"It- it might be wise to take a bath. To clear your head, as well." 'As well', besides the fact that his blood-covered uniform was very worrying to the others.

-"...Is there a point? I don't have any spare clothes."

"Ah." Japan was at a loss for words. He had a spare uniform of his own, but he doubted it would fit Italy, who was some five inches taller than he. "-I'll go see if we can arrange something. In the meantime, you can run a bath."

Italy complied, heading to the bathroom, and the other went to ask Germany, who had cobbled together most of the furniture in the room, for advice.

"Well-" The taller man turned from the kitchen countertop, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have to admit, I suspected he wouldn't figure to bring a spare uniform of his own. I took one from his closet before we left." He procured a pile of blue fabric from seemingly nowhere, and handed it to a slightly bewildered Japan.

"Right. I'll take them to him."

He made his way to the bathroom, and, being the easily embarrassed person he was, Japan called out to his friend instead of approaching any further, seeing one of the curtains around the bathtubs was spread.

"Italy- I have a uniform for you."

The response took a little while. "It's okay. You can come in."

Japan was disconcerted by this, but cautiously pulled back the plastic drape and stepped inside, both relieved for his modesty and revolted at the sight- all the blood had turned the previously clear water an opaque red. He silently left the little pile of clothes on the floor, folded neatly, and made to leave before stopping himself to ask one more question.

"Are you hurt at all?"

-"I think we all are. I'm not hurt more than you or Germany." Thus came the reply, if after another thoughtful pause.

"...Hai. I'll leave now. Can I... take these?" He motioned to the bloodied clothes, in a messy heap near the tub.

-"Si. Thanks, Japan!" Italy answered, in a tone like the upbeat one everyone was used to, and Japan was glad to hear it- even if things didn't seem quite right, somehow.

He walked out briskly, leaving the other by himself.

Italy decided to drain the tub and fill it up again- he wasn't getting much cleaner practically bathing in blood.

"From a hundred other time loops." He mouthed to himself, almost unconsciously, and hoisted himself out of the tainted water, catching the chain on the plug with his foot and pulling it out.

Luckily, since the red liquid was diluted, most of it flowed through the drain without leaving a trace, and when the bath filled up again, the water was a translucent pink. Not wanting to waste any more water, Italy made do with this- it was still a lot better than the solid red color the water had had earlier. He laid his head back against the edge of the tub and took a moment to order his thoughts- to clear his head, as Japan suggested.

It was ineffective, and echoes of doubt and terror still rang through his mind, muddled and confusing.

So, a few minutes later, Italy left the bathroom, clean and dry but feeling no better, and made to sit where he had been huddled up earlier, when something drew his attention- the smell of smoke. Something was burning, and he quickly saw what it was- somebody had lit a fire in the corner of the room opposite to his, where a blackened fireplace connected to a crumbling stone chimney.

_But... there wasn't any kindling. _He walked into the kitchen area, where Japan, Germany and France were busying themselves over something that smelled delicious, and tried to get a better look at whatever the fire was consuming. A flash of something between purple and blue was recognizable as a shred of his bloodstained uniform, but something else was disintegrating. Italy yelled in recognition and fear when he spotted a piece of red leather, charring and fading at an alarming speed.

"You burned it!"

The threesome tending to the food made sounds of surprise. Germany-who was peeling a potato- breathed in sharply as his knife slipped from clammy fingers and droplets of crimson lined his thumb.

"Hai... your uniform. Surely you don't need it-" Japan tried.

"I-" Italy stopped himself from screaming any more. None of the others knew about the journal and he didn't plan on telling them. He attempted to cover up his panic with a nervous laugh. "Ehehe... no. I'm sorry... It was strange seeing something of mine burn. I'm... it's okay." _Change the subject, something. Anything... Just don't go insane. It's okay. It's all okay, as long as... _The others were looking at him with expressions that ranged from worry to fear. "Any- ah... Any word from the others?"

Before any of them could reply, the heavy door on the far side of the room opened and a flurry of feverish chatter and shouting could be heard as _most _of the crew that had gone to explore the house returned.

"I knew it, we shouldn't have-"

"Couldn't we just-?"

"Damn it. Goddamn it!"

"Calm _down, _Roma_. _We don't know that-"

Italy stayed back, fearing the worst, as the others rushed over to speak with the frantic mass near the doorway. Japan stopped for a split second and wondered out loud; "Where are England and America?" before walking briskly to catch up with Germany and France.

Russia, it seemed, was the only one who kept his cool, and he was able to recount their trip through the mansion.

"We checked the room with the piano again. That got us nowhere, so we went to the sliding doors on the first floor. We thought there was something behind them, but before we could check, the Thing appeared again. We fought it off and managed to open the doors. There was a narrow, dark staircase behind them. I don't know whose smart idea it was to go when we were weak already..."

He paused, looking resentful. "But we went. And the monster appeared again. It was different now- it must have been twice as big, at least. So England told us to leave, and he would stay to fight it."

"I think we could have beaten it again. After all, Spain, Prussia and South Italy were all with us. But he insisted that we let him take care of it. That was fine with me..." He gave a cold smile that didn't reach his indigo eyes.

"Aha, but he should have known that America wouldn't leave him."

Japan bit his lip and fixed his gaze on the floor. Germany stiffened, indistinctly thanked Russia, and went to check on the others, who were scattering around the room- to the beds, the long wooden table, and the kitchen. France's blue eyes widened and he blinked rapidly.

Italy had deduced, still leaning against the kitchen wall, that someone had fallen victim to the Thing, and from the fact that the loud, enthusiastic talking and venomous arguing characteristic of the two incorrigible nations was missing, he concluded that it had been England and America.

He shuffled over to the tall Russian who had settled, sighing, into a chair by the table-apparently waiting for something.

"Hey- Russia?"

Golden-brown eyes met purple, bordering on blue. "Da?"

"You were there, right? You saw it happen... do you think America and England are... gone? I think they stayed behind to fight it, si? But they're both strong... and the Thing sometimes disappears without warning, could they maybe have-" A note of desperation in his voice was gaining clarity as he spoke louder and louder, more and more feverishly before he was interrupted.

"They're dead. I'm sure of it. They were strong, but it was very big. It got so much stronger... No two people could beat it and live." Blunt, but effective.

Italy gave a meek nod, a whisper of "Grazie", and wished that he could go somewhere and just scream, cry, express his desperation.

The book was gone, yes- but he had naively convinced himself that when England got back, he would help... If there was anybody that was left behind, it couldn't be the one other person with the ability to turn back time.

It just couldn't.

_ But- _He reminded himself. _I can't fall apart. This is my last chance to get my friends out. Those I have left...__  
_

He gave a half-smile that radiated bitterness and loss, and thought; _I'll go insane once I get them out._


End file.
